Unhealthy Temptations
by Writer Awakened
Summary: Shin Megami Tensei: Nocturne A world with so much pain. A world with no laws or morals. In a world like this, any act of pleasure could be considered moral. Citrusy...some lime.


_Unhealthy Temptations_

---

(Shin Megami Tensei: Nocturne). In a world with no morals, no laws, what would be considered "moral", "lawful"? In a world such as this, _anything_ is within limits.

And sometimes, the only way to keep yourself from reaching your outer limits is to reach your inner ones…

---

The young man felt something running across his body. Hands, most likely; nowadays, you could never be sure.

The world had changed a great deal recently; it was surprising what had stayed the same.

It was in a bar, a small drinking establishment where people- no, _demons_- came to drown their sorrows in intoxicating substances. Familiar, in many respects.

You could get away with things in this bar you could not anywhere else. Maybe that was one thing that _had_ changed.

To the right of the young man was a naked woman rubbing up beside him, touching him in places yet unseen. No, she wasn't a _woman_- rather, a demon. A succubus, to be precise. A vain, seductive, shallow demon fond of the acquired taste of strong men. In the dread drowsed hours of the night, they worked their erotic "magic" on persons of the male persuasion. On merit of the broad, devilish smile on her face, she seemed to be enjoying the feel, the taste, the scent of ripe human flesh.

To the left of the young man was a naked woman, reluctantly stroking his back and grinding rhythmically against him with the bottom half of her body. No, she wasn't a _woman_ either- rather, a demon. A lilim, to be precise. A demure, tentative, feminine demon fond of the act of teasing those of the male persuasion using her myriad charms. Though her body and her hands were skilled and experienced, her face was still very much like that of a little girl. The boy could not help but thinking of the perverse pleasure some of the fetishist misanthropes he knew would take from staring at her. But they were not here; they were not even alive. _Good_.

It was not so much the feeling of the experience- though this (somewhat) unfamiliar feeling in familiar places was nothing if not pleasurable- but the principle of the matter that made him feel good. In a world like this, it was far from unusual to indulge in "vices" of various measures; from the more extreme like the killing of a fellow and the looting of goods, to the lesser offense of being overtly promiscuous with any attractive suitors willing to grant sexual favors.

The unbearable heaviness of existing here was knee-shattering. Already the young man had "scars" of the "war" that was raging on in the parallel dimensions of "ambition" and "humanity". It was painfully clear that he was just one human in a billowing sea of demons. The "scars" ran across his body, serving as reminders that he was always locked into maintaining importance in this embryonic shit-hole. Ironically, it was the very thing that disfigured his precious human skin that would save him from a cruel fate of dying far before his time. He woke up every morning remembering who he was _because_ of the Magatama; without the markings, he may well have been in a run-down abandoned district of Tokyo, bound up by a bunch of greased-up Yakuza trying to play the kidnapper's game. _As if anyone would care about me_, the young man thought.

He had it bad.

No, he would take that back, and not think about saying it ever again.

He had it good.

Why else would he be still _alive_ after all that apocalyptic shit went down? No, he was one of the lucky ones, but he wasn't thanking anybody. Few people were left here, and those who were, were probably either dead or corrupted by the desire for power. The young man wondered: which fate had his "friends" suffered? On second thought, maybe he _did_ have it bad; he allowed that thought to come back to him one last time. Maybe everyone who died were the lucky ones.

In the more casual, sexual sense of the world, he was _lucky_. Very lucky. About eighty percent of the hormonal, sex-crazed, forlorn young men that he knew would have _died_ to be in the situation he was in. They did die.

Wonder what they would think about having a sexual escapade with two demonic females? Would they say that they would "sell their souls", draw demonic sigils on their bedroom floor with red paint in a crude recreation of blood, just to taste the forbidden fruit of a demon girl? The young man didn't know if he had to sell his soul at all- maybe it was gone, maybe not. It didn't really matter either way. He had approached these timid demons, maybe for a way to take his mind off of "things". They were more than happy to oblige.

The succubus to the right of him ran her crimson-red tongue across his face, her hot breath consuming him like the morning fog the young man was so used to. Her hands, which were unusually forceful and bold for one of the female persuasion, massaged him. His breaths escaped his lips like the quiet bubbling of a brook, calm and yet pleased. It was unusual and yet respectable for one being calm at being pleased so violently by a demon woman. She just wanted some head, didn't she? It felt good…maybe because it was so similar to the battles he fought. Violent, rough…

The lilim to the left was a bit more gentle. Or was it shyness? She did not seem to be lacking in the field of exuberance, however. Her hands rubbed in a rhythmic circular motion on his chest, and she giggled seductively as she did so, as if she wished to dominate him in the most bizarre and unusual ways as possible, but could not bring herself to do so.

The young man felt good, as he hadn't felt since…since…before the Conception. There was something that felt good about sex. It was something that showed itself every time he was victorious in battle, every time he killed a foe. It was that rush, that adrenaline, that feeling of exhilaration that made him feel so good. Maybe this was what was in the human race for eons ago. So important for human survival: to fight, to _win_; and to reproduce. But it was relegated to a secondary role in society. Now, perhaps its importance was once again becoming blinding in its clarity. Maybe at its roots, the world was not evolving; it was devolving.

Devolution and such other pretentious, lofty topics mean nothing to those engrained in the act of sex. At the time of rapture, there are only thoughts of pleasure, of focus. The desire to perform…perhaps in some, it would overcome even the desire to enjoy oneself. Thus, when sexuality becomes a contest, as humankind is wont to make it, is there still pleasure from it?

The young man would say so. From behind him, the succubus was grinding her hips against him, her tongue licking clean the sins clinging to his neck, her kisses like a vampiric blessing. In front of him, the lilim sat on his exposed lap, facing him. She moaned as her naked demon body throbbed up and down on top of him. Her rapturous moans emitted an aura that seemed magical- it was like a mystical song of sexuality. Some patrons in the bar turned a head to look towards the noise- some looked away, the more curious watched as surreptitiously as they could.

The succubus growled as the lilim was granted perfection on the body of the young man. Perhaps it was jealousy; such petty, sinful thoughts were the domain of such a creature, after all.

As the young man reached his climax, he clutched onto the naked breasts of his partner like driftwood in a violent sea. A type of (dare it be said?) human-like characteristic, a sweeping, sexual blush, lashed over her face.

At this moment, the young man was happy. Though the world around him was harsh, and would become harsh to him soon as well; at this moment, at this very rapturous moment, he was happy.


End file.
